when I feel like Donld Trump, only less successful

No more mid-afternoon gym work outs, my life of semi-leisure has come to an abrupt end.

Get up at 6:30 a.m., sit and stare at an empty wall for one hour. At 7 :30 begin to drink a pot of coffee, answer personal correspondence and check the Real Estate hot sheet for new listings. Hour three: Drive to the property management company and begin the eight-hour work day, which includes, but is not limited to, inspection upon inspection of recently vacated apartments, white gloving the work of painters and cleaning crews, and staring down errant carpet installers for substandard workmanship--a natural fit for someone of my temperament and exacting disposition. Drive all over town repeating this routine with two dozen contractors, at a dozen different properties, until 5:00 p.m. Head home, take a shower...stare at that wall again.

At 6:00 P.M. begin a 90- minute massage, and silently flirt with the kitties while listening to Celtic Zen. Scrape together the part of an income that pays for luxuries like food and air conditioning. 7:45 p.m.., eat dinner and return to the hot sheet. Set appointments for Sunday showings.

Voice mail from a local Spa and Hair "Lounge": "Two gallons of Wisehands by morning..."

Me: "Oh crap, the massage oil."

Next day: Mix up a batch and apply labels instead of staring at the wall. Deliver by 8:45 a.m..

Between the 9-5 job- a massage therapy business, a Real Estate sales gig, and my faltering massage oil conglomerate, I just haven't had time to read or write blogs lately. That's o.k., I am getting off on the intensity of it all, and Martha Stewart better-stand- the- *&*%$- back!